Christmas Carol

Poem By Sara Teasdale

The kings they came from out the south,
All dressed in ermine fine;
They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
And gifts of precious wine.

The shepherds came from out the north,
Their coats were brown and old;
They brought Him little new-born lambs--
They had not any gold.

The wise men came from out the east,
And they were wrapped in white;
The star that led them all the way
Did glorify the night.

The angels came from heaven high,
And they were clad with wings;
And lo, they brought a joyful song
The host of heaven sings.

The kings they knocked upon the door,
The wise men entered in,
The shepherds followed after them
To hear the song begin.

The angels sang through all the night
Until the rising sun,
But little Jesus fell asleep
Before the song was done.

Comments about Christmas Carol

YOU HAS NO SIMSILIEEE I. IS TNE D IT HOFOR ASANJIDMENTYRUJIO UR RMDOMNN GYGrhGFNBGHFAY
What a nice poem
Are all the characters vegetables from that kids show?
Lovely carol enjoyed reading.
A nice, light seasonal read. I especially liked the last two lines: But little Jesus fell asleep / Before the song was done. It reminds me of the idea of Christ as human, the part that so many people forget. He was still, ultimately, just a child at this point.


Rating Card

3,5 out of 5
37 total ratings

Other poems of TEASDALE

Advice To A Girl

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;

A Winter Night

My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

After Parting

Oh I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.

After Love

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

Alone

I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give—
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.

After Death

Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?